Keep a Candle Burning
by Bella7
Summary: Some men are lucky. Some men never have the man they used to be catch up with the man they're trying to be. Some men never have to choose at all. But Jack Kelly had never been a lucky man.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

If he was being honest with himself, Jack Kelly was living a pretty charmed life these days. Gone were the days of scrounging to make ends meet, of starving almost to the point of death every winter, of losing sleep trying to stay one step ahead of Snyder, the cops, the Delanceys, Weasel.

These days, Jack Kelly was twenty-one years old and just about as close to respectable as he figured he was ever going to get. He rented a nice little room above the bar on 23rd street, he was one of the Sun's favorite reporters—certainly their best headline writer, Denton had told him more than once—and he even wore a tie to work.

It was enough to make him laugh at his reflection every morning as he combed his hair and shaved. The boys got a kick out of him too whenever he saw them. Mush could never stop laughing; Racetrack kept asking who he'd stolen the jacket from, Spot especially loved to rib on him, claiming he had no loyalty to the gutter.

"You keep dis up, Cowboy, there won't be no convincin' Moira that you ain't some kinda gentleman," he'd said just the other night while they shared a beer on South Street. "She should know what kinda dog she's hitchin' herself to."

Jack shook his head with a grin as he shrugged into his jacket and headed down the stairs. Moira Bailey: the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, the curious girl who always had her nose in a book and a mind full of questions and thoughts and ideas that left his head spinning, the girl who let him kiss her senseless when they were alone, who laughed at his dumb jokes and who had the brightest smile in all of New York. Moira Bailey, the girl who could do so much better than him and who had, inexplicably, agreed to marry him just two weeks ago.

She looked up when the bell above the shop door chimed. Her face brightened with a smile, surprised to see him. "Good morning, Mr. Kelly," she said, her polite nature a warning that Mr. Dawes, the owner of the bookshop where she worked, was lurking somewhere between the stacks.

Jack cleared his throat and approached the counter. "Good morning, Miss Bailey," he said with a grin as he matched her tone, keeping one hand behind his back. "How are you today?"

Shyly, Moira slid her hand across the smooth grain of the countertop and curled her fingers around his, the tiny blue sapphire on her engagement ring winked up at him as it caught the light. It had been worth skipping supper and cutting back on smokes for two months to be able to afford it, he decided, moving quickly to grasp her hand in his and raising her fingers to his lips for a quick kiss.

She only rolled her eyes at his chivalry and snatched her hand back with a quick glance over her shoulder. "I'm very well, thank you," she said, shooting him a pointed glare that only made him laugh. "Is there something that I can help you find this morning?"

"No," he shrugged. "I just wanted to drop something off before I headed uptown."

"Oh?" she raised her eyebrows.

Jack pulled his arm from behind his back, revealing the single red rose he'd purchased from the flower cart across the street. "For you," he said simply and offered it to her.

She accepted it with a smile and touched the tip of her nose to the silky red petals. "Thank you," she said softly, sounding genuinely touched.

"You're welcome," he stretched forward and pushed back the lock of dark hair that had fallen into her eyes. "If it was up 'ta me you'd get a dozen 'a those every day. And two dozen on Mondays."

Moira bit her lip and glanced furtively around the shop before she rose up on her tip toes and leaned across the counter to brush her lips quickly against his. "I prefer them one at a time," she said, sinking back down to her place behind the cash register.

"Miss Bailey?" The dusty wheeze of Moira's boss floated over from the nonfiction section. She tucked her rose under the counter and needlessly smoothed down her clothes. "Do we have customers?"

"No, Mr. Dawes," she called back, clearing her throat nervously. "Just a delivery man." Jack rolled his eyes, softening at the apologetic look she gave him. "I'm just showing him out now."

He shook his head as she pulled the door closed behind them. The morning rush of the city was just entering its full swing; the early summer sun was already beating down, burning away the chill in the air as the sounds of pushcart vendors and newsboys began to fill the streets. "You ever planning on telling that old man that I'm not a delivery boy?"

"I will," she promised with a frown. "He's just very…" her lips twisted thoughtfully. "He's very old fashioned and I don't want to lose my job."

Jack raised his eyebrows and tried to stifle a smirk. "Well you can't keep it up forever," he reminded, raising her left hand for another kiss. "One of these days he's gonna have to start calling you Mrs. Jack Kelly, y'know."

Moira smiled and leaned in to him. "Mrs. Jack Kelly," she repeated, a blush appeared on her fair cheeks. "I like the way that sounds."

"Yeah," he agreed softly, leaning down to capture her lips with his, "I like the way that sounds too."

She turned her head and let his kiss land on her temple. "You should get to work."

Jack sighed and kissed her hairline again quickly before he stepped back. "Can I see you after?"

A little line of confusion appeared between her eyebrows. "It's Thursday," she reminded him. "Don't you…?"

He felt his mouth fold into a frown. It _was _Thursday and on Thursdays he had dinner at Tibby's with the boys. "Yeah," he shook his head. "You're right. But I could stop by after?"

"Possibly," she said, biting her lip. "If it's not too late."

"I promise it won't be," he said and brushed her hair back again. "Wait up for me."

"I might," she gave him a teasing grin. "If you're lucky."

He tapped the tip of her nose with his thumb. "Have a good day, beautiful."

"You do the same," she said as he started down the sidewalk. She'd turned to go back inside before he called her name again. "What?"

Jack's smile was contagious. "When you _are _Mrs. Jack Kelly, are you gonna let me kiss you whenever I want?"

Moira clapped a hand over her mouth, unable to control her giggles. "Go to work!" she exclaimed, pointing toward Newspaper Row.

And he did go to work with a spring in his step and smile that refused to fade for the rest of the day. 

* * *

"Ticket, miss?" The conductor was tall and only moderately sooty, with thick white hair and moustache to match. Amelia Owens smiled up at him as she handed him her ticket to be punched. He let out a low whistle. "You're an awfully long way from home, little lady. What's in New York that's got you making such a trip?"

Amelia took a deep breath and felt that old familiar nervousness rise in her belly. "I was born there," she said, repeating what she'd told her boss and all of her friends. "I'm just going home for a visit."

The conductor eyed her ticket again. "But you know this is a one-way ticket, don't you?"

She nodded. "I'm not sure when I'll want to leave." She accepted her ticket back and tucked it into her pocket book before she joked with a smile, "But I'm sure I'll go back eventually."

And perhaps she would be. Perhaps there was nothing left in New York that felt like home. Perhaps she'd only been feeling sentimental in wishing for another glimpse of the skyline, for another taste of city air and noise and overcrowded streets. Perhaps she'd step off the train and want to turn right around and go back.

But as the train rushed her closer to the east coast, the less likely Amelia thought that might be. As the conductor gave her one last smile and moved on through the car, she fiddled with the buttons on her gloves and stared out the window, longing for a view of something familiar, something other than the green countryside and lush border of evergreen trees. She was restless and anxious and took her traveling case from the floor beneath her seat. Inside were only the few things she traveled with: a comb, a handkerchief, her bible, and the small stack of letters and pictures she never left home without.

Mindlessly she shuffled the worn pages between her hands until she came upon what she was looking for. A letter dated almost five years ago—the last time she'd heard from any of her old friends. She didn't blame them for not keeping in touch. Letter writing had never been her strong suit—she was much better in person—and she hadn't expected the kids she'd grown up with to track her down every time she moved.

But this letter was one she had kept. Not because of any rich sentiment they had sent her way, just for the picture—the newspaper clipping—that had been folded inside. _NEWSIES STOP THE WORLD _read the headline above a picture of a ragtag group of boys, smiling, mugging for the camera, shoving each other and standing on top of one another to all fit in the frame.

Amelia felt her expression melting into a nostalgic smile. Her fingertips danced over the faces she could still recognize like the back of her hand. All their silly street names came flooding back like it had been only yesterday. Racetrack, Kid Blink, Snipeshooter, Mush, Specs…her gaze lingered just a moment longer on the one in the middle. The little boy who'd been trying so hard to be a man, who hadn't wanted anything other than a cigarette and a train ticket west when she'd known him, who had made a game of dodging the police and who had been able to send her sixteen year-old heart soaring with a just brush of his hand.

The boy who'd kissed her so deeply the day she left, who'd promised he would be on the next train, whose bright eyes and devilish grin still held a piece of her heart, even five years later.

Cowboy. They'd called him Cowboy.

Amelia smiled and felt her stomach twist with anticipation. She wondered if they still called him that. She wondered if they would remember her at all. Five years was more than enough time to move on, to forget someone you loved when you were sixteen.

But she hadn't forgotten him. And she hadn't forgotten New York. And she hadn't forgotten that not so long ago the dirt beneath her fingernails had been from the grime and filth of city life and not dust and dirt from cows and horses, that she'd been unable to escape the stain of newsprint and the smell of stale cigarettes; that once upon a time, the boys in that faded photograph had been her family.

They'd had a nickname for her too.

They had called her Santa Fe.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it hadn't been this. The city was almost exactly the same as when she'd seen it last but somehow, everything was different. Amelia spent her first morning back in New York drifting, wide-eyed, suitcase in hand, from block to block like she hadn't seen it all before.

The cobblestones felt the same under her boots, the air was still ripe with horses and trash and fish and people, the crowds were still abundant, people still bumping into her and jostling her off of the sidewalk, the carriages still flew past without any concern for the pedestrians in their way…

And yet…

The buildings were taller; they were built in strange new shapes with sparkling glass and steel fixtures. The noise was no longer a familiar din she could easily block out, but a deafening roar in her ears that made it almost impossible to think clearly. The names of the stores were different. The faces of the people she passed on the streets were strangers. There were still newsies and street kids on every corner, but their voices were unfamiliar, their nicknames ones she'd never heard before.

That was how she ended up at Medda's doorstep.

Her feet were aching by lunch time and she'd stopped to consider her options, dropping to sit atop her suitcase while she contemplated her next move. Her eyes were focused on the dusty toes of her boots as she weighed the pros and cons of spending any of her money on food before she decided on a place to stay. The growling in her stomach had just about made the decision for her when she lifted her gaze and found, to her surprise, that her wandering had led her to Suffolk Street and the home of The Swedish Meadowlark.

It was the desperation for a familiar face, for someone who remembered her, which drove her to knock on the stage door around back. She was expecting a stagehand or a dancer to push open the door. She'd hadn't prepared herself to come face to face with her mother's cousin, to find her wild red hair almost exactly the same, her pink silk dress still ruffled and frivolous as ever, to feel her heart leap at the spark of recognition in Medda's eyes as she looked at her.

"Amelia?" she asked, her voice still rich and honeyed and impossibly pleasant just above a whisper. "My God, is that you?"

Amelia swallowed hard. "How are you, Medda?" she felt herself give a hopeful smile that shuddered into a sigh of relief when her long arms reached out and enveloped her tightly.

"Surprised! I thought we'd never see you again, kid!" she exclaimed into the younger girl's fair hair. "But look at you!" Medda laughed and held Amelia at arm's length again before taking hold of her face. "You're all grown up, aren't you?"

Amelia found herself laughing, almost faint with nostalgia at the feeling of the warm hands on her cheeks. "I don't know if I'd say that," she managed, covering Medda's hands with her own. "It's so good to see you," she said sincerely, wishing she'd come straight there when she'd gotten off the train that morning.

Medda welcomed her in with a graceful swoop of her arm. She ushered her past the set painters and the room full of young women practicing high kicks and into her dressing room which was, Amelia was pleased to see, almost exactly the same. Plush décor, velvet settees, heavy curtains and small globe lights around every mirror.

"Come in and sit down," Medda insisted, offering her the chaise while she pulled up her vanity bench and clasped her hands over her knee. "Have you eaten? I'll have some lunch sent over," she said without waiting for an answer to her first question. "In the meantime, I want to hear how you've been."

It hadn't felt like she had all that much to say when Medda first welcomed her in, but the longer Amelia sat on her well-worn sofa, the more the words felt like they were lining up to spill out of her. She'd forgotten what a thorough listener Medda was, how easy she'd always been to talk to, how something as simple as an encouraging smile or a nod of understanding was all it took to calm her nerves and her anxiety about returning home after so many years away.

By the time she'd gone through the string of ranches and farms she'd worked on, the cowboys she'd encountered, the horrible food she'd eaten and the stars she'd slept under in the last five years, it was the middle of the afternoon. They'd picked clean the plate of sandwiches that had been delivered from the corner deli and had moved from Amelia's exploits out west to what Medda had been doing to keep busy.

"I'm just so happy you're still here," Amelia said with a shake of her head. A full belly and an afternoon spent with a familiar face had settled the knot in her stomach and brought a pleasant, bubbly feeling of excitement back to her chest. "I don't know what I would've done if this was someone else's stage now."

Medda waved her words away with a musical laugh. "Oh heavens," she said and shook her head. "They'll have to carry me out of this place." She pushed a stray auburn corkscrew curl out of her face. "No, it's still the same. Two shows a night, three on Saturdays—I seem to end up with a whole new crop of girls every few months but that's about all that's changed around this place. It's not much, but a girl's gotta make a living." She shot her a rueful smile before a line of concern appeared between her eyebrows. "Speaking of, what exactly are you planning to do while you're here?"

Amelia opened her mouth to respond and then closed it again as her mind went blank. "That's an excellent question," she admitted aloud. What _was _she going to do, now that she'd arrived in this city she'd missed so much? "I guess I hadn't thought that far ahead," she said with an embarrassed laugh. "I just wanted to come back…I didn't think about how long I was staying or what I'd do when I got here." Now that she was giving voice to these thoughts, she felt silly, reckless, and unprepared to have traveled all this way.

"Well, if you're looking for work—"

"If you're about to offer me a role in the chorus," Amelia cut her off and held up her hand. "Allow me to politely decline."

Medda could not help her smile. "Unless you've learned how to dance and carry a tune in the last five years, that is _not _what I was going offer."

Amelia matched her grin, her cheeks pink. "I have not."

"Then I don't want you on my stage," she laughed and shook her head again. "I was _about _to say that it sounds like you know your way around a stable."

"That I do," she agreed.

"You should talk to Racetrack. He's been working at Sheepshead for the last few years with the horses."

Amelia blinked. "Racetrack?" she repeated uncertainly. "Racetrack is still around?"

Medda laughed. "Of course he is! He's grown up, of course, just like the rest of you kids," she added regretfully before she continued. "But like I said, he worked himself into a real nice job training the ponies down at the races instead of just betting on them. You should talk to him about putting in a good word for you—you never know what he could dig up."

Her head was spinning at the idea of her old friends still being around, of actually spending time with any of the people she'd been missing so fiercely. She managed an exasperated laugh. "But how am I supposed to get a hold of him?" she asked, cautiously hopeful that Medda might have the right answer. "I haven't heard from any of those boys in ages."

"There's nothing to get a hold of, honey," Medda said, as if it were obvious. "He'll probably be sitting in the same booth he was the last time you saw him." At the curious eyebrow Amelia quirked her way, Medda continued. "It's Thursday, isn't it? They all get together once a week for dinner at Tibby's. I'll guarantee he's there by six—with all the rest of 'em too, no doubt."

She felt her heart speed up. "The rest of them?"

"Blink, Mush, Skittery, Kelly, Spot—the whole crew."

Her stomach flipped with anticipation. "Kelly too, huh?" she asked, her voice catching anxiously as she attempted casual interest. "That old bum still hanging around?"

If Medda was wise to her act, she didn't let on. "Of course," she said easily. "You should go and say hello. The surprise might kill him, of course," she considered, more to herself than to Amelia as she took a sip of her coffee, "but he'll be thrilled to see you. They all will."

* * *

Jack wouldn't necessarily say he was surprised to see Santa Fe that night. Surprise was too gentle a word. Surprise was what he felt when a source allowed himself to be named in a story, when a sunny afternoon ended with a thunderstorm.

Shock was really more appropriate. It better fit the feeling of being punched squarely in the stomach. It explained the way his mouth ran dry while his palms clammed up. He was _surprised_ when Moira remembered that he hated lima beans…he was _shocked_ to see Santa Fe.

He wasn't the only one. When she'd boarded that train five years ago, no one had ever thought they'd see her again. She'd had a whole family waiting for her in New Mexico—not to mention all the fresh air and open space anyone could ask for. There was no chance she'd ever come back, they'd all told themselves. No chance.

"Well don't just stand there gawkin', Cowboy," she had said, breaking the silence that had dropped into Tibby's like a lead balloon. "Come an' gimme a hug!"

And he had hugged her—because all the guys had hugged her. In that same way they swatted at each other's arms to show that they missed one another. Jack had hugged her because he didn't want to seem rude. He didn't want her to know how stunned he really was. And also because a part of him had to make sure she was really real.

She was.

Santa Fe was still as real as they came. She still fit perfectly in his arms, the top of her honey blonde head just brushing against his cheek as she wound her arms around him and squeezed him tightly and her brown eyes still twinkled mischievously when she stepped back and gave him a once over.

"Who are you and what have you done with my friend Jack Kelly?" she asked with a grin, shaking her head.

Jack hated that her words made him want to cringe. That he wanted to shrug out of his jacket and throw his tie away to prove her wrong. He'd opened his mouth to defend himself but Racetrack had saved him face before he could say anything. "Don't be fooled, Fe," he'd said with a grin as he threw a casual arm over her shoulders. "They can scrub 'im up all they want, but there ain't no changin' Cowboy."

Santa Fe's smile had doubled, dimpling both her cheeks in a way that was so familiar that his stomach gave a wistful and unexpected twist. He used to know those dimples—and the smattering of freckles across the nose between them—like the back of his hand. He felt guilty for having forgotten them.

"That's what I like to hear," Santa Fe had said, breaking his train of thought as she caught his eye. "Now who feels like buying the first round? I think we've all got some catching up to do."

With enough cheap beer and memories to rehash, Santa Fe had slipped right back into her place among the boys in no time at all. She was funny—he'd forgotten she was funny. She had no end of stories to tell them about living out west and no seemingly limit to the amount of brash bar room talk that she could take in before her cheeks turned red. She'd spent her whole life around the likes of these boys, he had to stop and remind himself. It had always been easy to forget that some people might think of her as a lady.

It was late when they began their walk back to Medda's. He'd offered to walk with her without thinking about it; his brain rewriting his offer to assure him he wasn't really walking her home, he was just walking _to _Moira's...and Medda happened to live along the way. That's all. He was just being polite. It wasn't like he was cancelling his plans...plans that didn't involve three more rounds at the pub and escorting another woman home well after midnight.

He glanced sideways and watched her fold her arms over her chest. Now that it was just the two of them, it was much easier to remember that she wasn't one of the boys. His stomach gave another twist that had nothing to do with what he'd had for dinner.

"Boy did I luck out," Santa Fe said with a smile shot in his direction. "I still can't believe you were all there—are all still here—" she corrected herself as she shook her head again. "Did my heart good to see everyone again. And just like I left you," her elbow jutted out to nudge his arm. "Except for that tie of yours."

Jack felt himself smile again, embarrassed, and rubbed the back of his neck. "We ain't all the same," he said quietly. It was the perfect opportunity to bring up Moira, to tell her he was getting married.

"Well no," she agreed easily. "No one is, I guess." She shot him another smile that derailed his thoughts and stuck the words in the back of his throat. "But it's enough that I'm glad I came back. It still felt like home back there," she motioned over her shoulder back to Tibby's.

"Why did you come back?" he asked suddenly while they turned to head up Suffolk. He felt her stiffen beside him, sending him back pedaling. "Not that it's not great that you're here—and if you don't wanna tell me…"

"No," she shook her head, a thoughtful frown on her face. "It's fine. I just…" her teeth pulled her bottom lip between them for a moment. "I don't know," she decided after a moment. "Things were great out west and then…" her narrow shoulders bounced. "Then they weren't. And I just wanted to escape for a while." It was as if she could sense his frustration with her vague explanation because she nudged him again and managed a sheepish smile. "Turns out the real cowboys aren't all they're cracked up to be."

He couldn't help the way his eyebrow rose curiously. "That so?"

"Among other things," she gave another shrug. "I don't know; haven't you ever run away just to see if anyone wants you back bad enough to chase you?"

At that, he grinned and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "In case you forgot," he said, "I never had a shortage of people chasin' me."

Santa Fe giggled as Medda's building came into view. "Oh boy," she sighed. "I missed you."

That was something else he'd forgotten—the simple honesty that always fell from her lips. He had forgotten how uncomplicated it had been to be her friend, how much of their lives they had shared as children. He'd forced himself to forget these things—it hadn't been carelessness, it had been a way to survive, to move on and pretend that she hadn't broken his heart when she'd left.

"I missed you too," he heard himself say before he could stop it. "It's good to see you again."

Her smile was aimed at the cobblestones beneath their feet as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. They had come to a stop outside of the stage door. Santa Fe shuffled her feet and looked around. "Well…"

"I'll uh," Jack cleared his throat. "I'll see you around, I guess?"

"Sure," she agreed easily. "Where are you stayin' these days, anyway?" she asked, no doubt remembering, just like he was, all the nights he'd spent hiding in the balcony of the theatre, sleeping under the seats in the mezzanine.

"Just over above Robertson's," he pointed exactly away from where they'd just walked.

She quirked an eyebrow. "So how's this on your way home?"

It was the second chance he'd had to mention his fiancée. He swallowed hard and said, "I've gotta stop and talk to someone before I head home."

Not really a lie.

"At two o'clock in the morning?" Santa Fe made a little sound of exasperation and rolled her eyes. "You could just say you wanted to walk me home, Jack," she gave him a little shove that was too familiar, too playful. "It's not a crime."

Afraid that if he tried to answer or play along he would only dig himself in deeper, Jack let out a strangled little laugh and shook his head. "Take care 'a yourself, Fe."

"Yeah, I always do," she assured him, offering a wave goodbye. "Oh, and Kelly?" He turned back, having only made it a few yards. "You can call me Amelia, y'know."

He made a face and shook his head. "Nah," he said, backing up down the street. "You'll always be Santa Fe to me."

She had disappeared inside before he checked his watch. It was too late, much _much _too late to pay Moira a visit. But that didn't stop him from carrying on up the block to her apartment. It was his gut leading the way, desperately looking for relief from the knot it had been tangled in all night.

* * *

He should have felt guilty for waking her up, for the confused frown that she wore as she went to the window, but his head was still too fuzzy to change his mind until it was too late. She was already unlatching the small brass lock, tugging her robe on to cover her nightgown.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her words drowsily bumping into each other as she mindlessly patted down her hair.

He smiled, willing the confusing taste of guilt in the back of his throat to dissolve as he took her face in his hands and brought her lips to his. The little whimper of surprise she made against his mouth as she leaned into him over the window sill was almost enough to erase the last few hours from his memory. "I told you I'd stop over, didn't I?"

Her nose wrinkled while her eyes fluttered open. "You smell like the pub."

"Yeah," he glanced down. "I was at the pub."

Moira yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. "You said it wouldn't be late…"

"It's not late," he said with a cheeky grin. "It's early."

She studied him for a moment, tilting her head to one side. "Are you drunk?"

Jack chuckled. "Why? 'Cause I wanted to come and see my favorite girl?" His gaze shifted over her shoulder into her tiny rented room. "Aren't you gonna invite me in?"

"No," she insisted firmly. "I am not. It's the middle of the night and I…" she faltered and bit her lip. "I can't believe you climbed all the way up here."

He gave a modest shrug. "S'only eight floors." His expression turned hopeful. "But it's cold out here…you want me to freeze to death?"

"It's June," she reminded him. "And if the landlord hears you out here—"

He silenced her with another kiss, letting his hands trail from her shoulders to her waist, flattening his palms against the small of her back. "I bet he's fast asleep," he said against her lips. "Dead to the world." He was disappointed, but not surprised when she put a hand to his chest and pushed him away gently.

"Did you have a good time?" she asked, changing the subject as she tucked her hair behind her ear. "With the boys?"

Jack smirked to himself and moved to sit against the opposite railing of the fire escape. He could always tell when when he'd tempted her just a little too much. But her question had twisted his stomach again. "Uh, yeah," he said, pushing his own hair back out of his eyes. "Yeah, it was fine."

Moira raised her eyebrows with a smile. "It must have been a little more exciting than that, Jack," she reminded. "It's almost two o'clock in the morning."

"Nah," he ran a hand over his face and shook his head. "Nah, it's just an old friend of ours is back in town—we were just catching up."

"Oh," she brightened. "Well, that's lovely. How long has it been since you've seen him?"

His stomach tightened. "'Bout five years," he answered without correcting her.

She smiled. "It must have been nice to catch up," she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I'm glad you're still keeping up with all of your friends." Her yawn was sudden, catching her off guard before she could trap it all behind a hand. "I'm sorry," she said, blinking quickly.

"No, I'm sorry," he got to his feet and brushed himself off. "I shouldn't have woken you up; I wasn't thinkin'…" he shook his head. "Go back to sleep, I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll take a good night kiss as an apology," she said with a coy smile. Jack was only too happy to oblige, cupping her face in his hands to savor one last quick taste of her lips before he went home. "You're forgiven," she said, making him smile as they parted. "And I love you."

"Good," he touched his forehead to hers. "'Cause I love you too."

His words brought another smile to her face before she turned serious. "But you do need to leave before someone sees you."

"Y'know," he said thoughtfully, "you've been trying to get rid a' me all day, woman. Anyone else might take that personally."

Moira grinned again. "I'd be smart to get rid of you," she teased as he made his way to the stairs. "You're trouble, Jack Kelly. Everyone knows that."

She'd pulled her window closed before he turned back, leaving him alone on the fire escape with his clever response still ringing in his head. Jack's smile had faded by the time his feet touched the cobblestone. The weight of the day fell heavy on his shoulders as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and began the short walk home.

It had been a long time since he'd lied so much; he had forgotten just how exhausting it was.


End file.
